


the things that don’t matter (and the memories that do)

by MXXNTAEIL



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bird Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Canon Compliant, Coping, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Friendship, Hair Braiding, Light Angst, Memory Loss, Nostalgia, Pig Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), coping w canon rn, ig????, im not projecting you are, okay maybe i am projecting just a teensy bit, ranboo braids techno’s hair, sad author jfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MXXNTAEIL/pseuds/MXXNTAEIL
Summary: Ranboo was young when he cut his hair. He supposes it didn’t matter why he did it, because the memory is isn’t important right now. All that matters is that, for now, for once, he can relax.
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 163





	the things that don’t matter (and the memories that do)

**Author's Note:**

> new fandom. new obsession. woo!

Ranboo was young when he cut his hair. The long, curly, black, and white strands snipped to just below his ears. Before, the ends brushed his shoulders like the blades of tall grass that brushed just below his knees when he was younger. (It tickled, just a bit.) He cut his hair sometime before he was offered to live in his current home, sometime before he left his mother’s house, sometime before his memory worsened and he forgot why he cut it.

He only knows of his long hair because he recalls the first feeling of cold winter air gracing his neck, eliciting goosebumps down his arms and a shiver up his spine. Something must have changed, then, he reasons. Something must have changed with his hair.

And Ranboo isn’t sure if he misses it, he’s met a few people who reminisce upon having their long hair.

(They complained right after, and Ranboo wasn’t sure if they missed it anymore.)

He isn’t sure why he remembered his long hair now of all times, either. Ranboo fiddled with the leather cover of his memory book, hooking a finger around the red ribbon page marker. His nails tracing the tight binding and tan thread that held each page together. The air around him was warm and quiet, the sound of fire crackling in his ears.

Ranboo risked a glance up, and— _oh_ ,  he remembers why he recalls his long hair. Techno sat hunched on an armchair, brushing through his damp hair diligently. Long, methodic brushes, occasionally catching a knot which he worked through easily. Ranboo watched on with tired eyes, entranced by the rhythmic and purposeful combs through the rosy pink-colored hair.

The hair began to dry and fluff at the ends, soft and untangled. It reminded Ranboo of something,  someone , but he didn’t know what. He sunk further into his corner of the couch he resided on, closing his memory book and pressing it against his chest. The corners of the book left indents in the soft fabric of his knitted sweater.

_ (“You look a bit cold there, Ranboo. Do you need a sweater, mate?” _

_ “Oh- no, no, it’s alright. Endermen aren’t as affected by the cold. I’ll be fine.” _

_ “You’re still affected, though. Come inside, it’s freezing—I’ll bring you one of Techno’s old ones. He won’t mind.” _

_ “No- I mean—it’s alright, you don’t have to worry about me.” _

_ “But I want to. Now, come in and get comfortable.”) _

He snapped to attention again, stopping his hand that was poking at a hole in a bit of loosened knit. Ranboo looked back at Techno who continued to brush through his hair, already halfway through the extensive after-shower session.

He let his eyes wander, again, past Techno to the fireplace where the fire licked up into the air, the spruce logs ablaze. He watched the orange and red flames cast a wavering warm glow into the dimly lit room. He wanted Phil to be here, it was too quiet, and he and Techno weren’t the closest. Phil’d left to the nearby village to purchase dinner, too tired to hunt, too hungry for measly bread and fruit. Ranboo remembers he took off from the ground with a strong beat of his large wings, snow flying off the guardrails of Techno’s porch from the gust of wind.

Ranboo wishes he could teleport sometimes with the way Phil could fly almost effortlessly. (His wing forever affected by him shielding  _ Wilbur _ , and it was a long period of healing. The wing never fully recovered, and the future will never seem to promise anything as such.) The half-formed pearl in his chest reminded him he was never  fully an Enderman. Ranboo pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands, curling his knees into his chest.

He looked up at Techno, again. His long hair looking drier. Fluffy, straight, rosy pink hair cascading over maroon knitted cashmere. Ranboo thinks he’s never seen Techno appear so...  _ harmless _ .

He watches Techno’s snouty nose scrunch momentarily as his brush snags on a knot. Techno pulls the brush out of his hair to massage a spot on his scalp before meticulously grooming through the tangle. Ranboo watches him in quiet, the only sounds filtering into his ears are the crackles of the flames and his own soft, slow breathing.

And then, Techno is looking at him.

“Do you need somethin’, Ranbo’?”

Ranboo nearly jumps, a messy mixture of surprise and fear flooding the pit of his stomach, climbing into his throat. His arms tense around his memory book. A familiar, looming sense of dread weighing heavy on his tongue, dripping cold water into his veins.

“Uh- um, no—I don’t,” he works out, his tongue catching between his teeth. “Why? Did I do something?” It seemed second-nature, he knew, to wonder if he’d done something wrong. He must’ve done something, Techno wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

“You were starin’.”

“Oh-oh. Sorry... sorry.” He cringed, pressing his memory book deeper into his chest, nails curling into the leather through the wool.

Techno pushed all of his hair, detangled or not, over one shoulder, and leaned into the chair to let his back rest. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

Ranboo’s fingers twitched, watching the rosy hair that lay across half of Techno’s chest. A cold wave crashed over Ranboo, the back of his neck feeling cold, a shiver trailing down his arms, and a chill running up his hunched spine. His long ears twitched at the cry of a bird outdoors.

“Actually, can- can I... brush your hair?” Techno didn’t answer, only turning to him, and that was enough for Ranboo to begin to backpedal, “Sorry, uh, it’s okay. You can- you can say no. I-I, um, I understand if—“

“Ranbo’, chill out. Sure,” Techno holds out the handle of the brush, leaning forward again to push his hair back over his shoulder, “you can brush my hair, as long as you don’t try an’ stab me while I’m relaxin’.”

Ranboo is slow to unfurl himself from his position, wincing when his knees and elbows popped and the pain of sitting in such a position for too long set in. He rose to his feet, the cold of the wooden planks underfoot seeping through his socks. He turned to leave his memory book on the couch, slipping it behind a pillow reflexively, going back to grab the brush with a slightly trembling hand.

“C’mon, _c’mon_ , my hair dries fast. I want it brushed through before it’s done dryin’.” Techno urged, adjusting his position on the armchair before releasing a slight huff of content.

Ranboo’s hands seem to begin to work on their own, instinctively working through a once-forgotten routine. The process, he tries to recall while parting the head of hair in front of him in half with careful fingers, is so  painfully familiar. The little buzzing in the back of his mind serving as a signal of sorts that he’s forgetting something. His hands felt heavy, weighted with the nostalgia of a lost memory.

His hands felt warm, heated with the fervor of the sudden reminder.  What did he forget?

_ (A small hand that barely fit around the base of a bamboo brush worked the soft bristles through dark curls. The world so very silent around them, only the bristles working through the strands broke the quiet.) _

Ranboo’s ear twitched. He shifted on his feet, gathering a lock of the rosy pink hair, running the bristles through it. He heard the bristles clearly, everything else seems to quiet. 

He worked from the ends of the tangled side of Techno’s hair upward, easily brushing through the pink locks with purposeful movements.

_ Quiet. Repetition. You know where you are. _

His shoulders relaxed, and Ranboo slumped forward as he focused on his task. Eyesight hindered by the dark, blurry vision zeroed in on his own dual-colored hands and the fluffy, rosy strands grasped between them. He didn’t realize how quickly the time escaped him, as he braided Techno’s hair. He didn’t realize how much his stomach hurt from hunger, too busy perfecting the loose braid to recall he hadn’t eaten since...

_ When did I eat? _

He didn’t realize Phil was already back.

Ranboo supposed it didn’t matter that he had forgotten to eat when Phil shuffled into the living room with three bowls of hot soup balanced carefully in his arms. When Techno reached out to help Phil with the dinner, the sudden movement startled Ranboo out of his focus.

“Oh- hi, Phil. Didn’t- uh-“ Ranboo fiddled with the brush bristles, “didn’t notice you came back. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, mate.” Phil let out a deep sigh, his back falling against the plush couch pillows, wings laid across the unoccupied seats. “Looked pretty focused there, didn’t want to disturb you. Techno’s hair looks nice, though.”

“Oh- oh, thanks-“

“ _Phil_ -“

“Can you braid mine next? After dinner?” Phil rolled up his sleeves, looking at a space underneath Ranboo’s curious eyes, spooning soup into his mouth. After swallowing, he states, “You don’t have to, mate. I would enjoy it, though, just thought it’d be nice.” 

A happy flutter of tattered butterfly wings swirled in Ranboo’s chest. He nodded, clutching the brush between his hands. He decided to forget about the misplaced sense of nostalgia in the pit of his stomach, surrounded by crashing waves of anxiety and uncertainty. He could confront it later if it ever came back. A sharp pain of hunger made him clench his teeth.

Ranboo starts, “Where- um, where should I sit?” He leans down carefully to set the brush down noiselessly on the coffee table.

“Anywhere you’d like, mate,” Phil hummed, voice a bit clouded with sleep. The man’s posture completely relaxed onto the couch, and Ranboo could see the countless years sitting on his shoulders, weighing down his bones. The years, they rolled off—one by one, so slowly, in a rhythmic pattern—and Ranboo saw, with every slow, deep breath from Phil, he gained his years back.

“Phil, this is _my_ house. You can’t be offerin’ my stuff without my permission,” Techno drawled, pushing his glasses up and rubbing his nose.

Phil chuckled softly. “Show some hospitality.”

Techno huffed back in mild amusement, waving off his old friend with a casual hand and the shake of his head.

Ranboo took a hesitant step over in the direction of an unused armchair, identical to the one Techno sat in. The man looked up from his soup, vaguely nodding his head at the armchair, and Ranboo took that as the go-ahead and sat down to eat.

The soup was warm and rich with flavor. Mushroom, chicken, and vegetables. Ranboo feels his hands tremor slightly in delight over having tasted such good food. He didn’t know Phil could cook, or- if Phil even cooked this in the first place.

_ Not my business. _

He chirped, involuntarily, in his contentment.

His heart seemed to stop. Logically, he knew Techno and Phil won’t mind his Enderman habits and reactions, but—  _but he can’t help it_. A lump formed in his throat and a buzz appeared behind his ears.

Hands clenched around a ceramic bowl, Ranboo glanced up nervously to see Techno’s pig ear twitch absently and Phil gave him a soft smile. “You like it, Ranboo?”

He nodded weakly. Techno snorts softly, dark red eyes matching his cashmere sweater, lighted softly by the fireplace, and states, “Good. Seems you have taste.”

“Thanks...?” Ranboo trails off into a question, focusing on the warmth the bottom of the bowl brings the palms of his hands. Techno nods once, resuming eating. Phil hummed a note, spooning vegetables and broth into his mouth.

The quiet returned, and it felt warm like the bottom of the bowl, smothering Ranboo’s body in a comforting heat, the back of his neck feeling as warm as his heart. The butterfly in his chest fluttered its wings, settling down in the dark cage of his ivory ribs, between his lungs. He took a quiet deep breath, releasing a breath that carried some years off his shoulders.

Ranboo adjusted his position, leaning back into the plush armchair and relaxing his shoulders. The years rolled off of him, steadily, like sun rays over grassy sunflower hills during sunrise, and he doesn’t try and think about his hair. Or Techno’s. Or Phil’s.

He blinked. A pleasant static filling the empty parts of his memory for now, for the evening, because he can relax, for now. He could eat his soup, he could reach for the brush and work through Phil’s unleashed hair. He could open his eyes and not wonder what lost memory a spec of dust reminds him of. He could not worry about the distance the familiarity of the situation desperately tries to remind him of.

Ranboo cut his hair sometime when he was younger, and he doesn’t remember why. And, for now, he’ll allow it to be the earliest memory he recalls. For once, he can relax. His memory isn’t needed for tonight’s comfort. 

**Author's Note:**

> i adore ranboo and would do anything for this mf please give him a break 
> 
> anyway— songs for this fic:
> 
> us by keshi  
> angel by finneas  
> soda by nothing but thieves  
> hidden in the sand by tally hall
> 
> hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
